


Gaps Between

by Green_Ink



Series: Gaps [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Ink/pseuds/Green_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Skyfall. Bond is off-duty indefinitely, and ordered to take some time off to recuperate. Q is his babysitter. Eventual Bond/Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaps Between

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on AO3! I hope you enjoy it. I watched Skyfall yesterday and needed to blow off steam from M's death. I will continue with longer chapters. Comments and criticism, especially regarding characterisation, are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

When it came to laying the breadcrumb trail, toeing the line between making it faint enough to seem accidental and yet still decidedly present enough to be followed by someone as suspicious and experienced as Silva, Q had done a fine job. The fact that he had brought reinforcements with him was unfortunate but not unexpected. It was the latter fact that burned in Bond's stomach the most, as he cradled M's still-warm body to his chest, her blood and hair tacking between his fingers as he held her head. As if she could still feel it.  
He didn't move for what must have been mere hours but felt much longer. The universe had shrunk in upon him, pressing down on his back, shoulders and the top of his head, and all that he knew was the cooling body wrapped in his arms. The wind in the eaves of the chapel was distant and weak. Irrelevant, therefore non-existent.  
More sounds came eventually, almost inaudible at first, growing louder as they drew nearer. A hum, then steady thumps on wood, motors, voices. He ignored them all. His world was so small. What need for sounds? His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.  
Only when firm, warm hands gripped his shoulders did his world shift again. He tightened his hold, and hunched his shoulders. But the intruder persisted, not taking the hint, and the hands moved from his shoulders to his wrists, the pressure steady and surprisingly unyielding. Their intention was clear, and he growled. A voice joined the hands. A familiar voice-  
He opened his eyes, and his small world fell away. Bright lights made him squint. A rush of sound, like a break in a dam, rushed through his ears. His pulse jumped. Men with flashlights, men with guns, talking into earpieces-  
"Bond." The voice drew his attention again, and he looked back from where he had instinctively been finding an escape route. He focused on a pair of bright eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses not a foot from his face. "Bond. You're in shock. Let her go." The words didn't register at first, and when they did, he dragged his eyes from Q's and looked down at where his hands held M close. He couldn't think straight, but somehow he found his grip loosening and suddenly there were three men in lab coats maneuvering her onto a stretcher and carrying her off. He felt hollow and empty. His world, now a thin shell, started cracking.  
"What is your status, 007?" Q asked. The question took him by surprise and sounded so absurd that Bond had to laugh. Q's eyes narrowed behind their rims.  
"You do not ask that when the person is right in front of your eyes."  
"How strange. It sounds to me like I just did. And I will repeat myself if necessary. What is your status, 007?"  
It was easier to just answer the questions. "No serious wounds," he said, relenting. "I am fine."  
Q fixed him with a look, then stood up and walked off. He was back a moment later with a thick blanket, which he dropped around Bond's shoulders. "Get up. If your wounds are superficial, I have orders to get you out. You are doing yourself no favours by staying here."  
They were halfway to the chopper before Bond realised he probably had hypothermia. He stumbled up the rungs as best as he could, took a seat, and tried to strap himself in. Tried to, because his fingers were stiff and off-white. He cursed, fumbling with the buckle.  
Q reached past him, and clicked it into place. He looked up at him, dreading pity in his face- that was the last thing he wanted, godsdammit- but Q's face was as dispassionate and blank as ever as he handed him a thermos. "Tea." The heat was a godsend on his hands.  
The chopper lurched and Q's hands flew to the arm rests. Bond looked up, meeting his eyes, noting the faint green tinge that had suddenly appeared, and couldn't help but smirk a little. "Shut up, Bond." Q grit out. The ground was rapidly falling away from under them, and then they were off. Once his hands felt nimble enough to tip the thermos without dropping it, he lifted it to his mouth and drank. And drank. When it was empty, he passed it to Q and gave in to the bone-heavy exhaustion that had settled over him.  
He was awoken by the unsettling feeling of descent. The sky outside was tinged with pink and light blue, and the city sprawl of London stretched below.  
***  
"It's only for a week or so and they found it on short notice, but it's decent enough." Q explained as he slotted the key into the lock and turned. They stepped into the apartment.  
"What happens after?" Bond asked, looking around. The furnishings centred around white, grey and dark brown wood. It did look quite decent. And a bit too big. He said as much.  
"That's because I will be living here too." Q replied, toeing off his leather shoes. Bond stopped on his way to opening one of the doors in the hallway and looked back, eyebrow quirking in surprise. "It is a two-bedroom apartment. We will be in London just long enough to pay our respects to M. Unfortunately, due to all the publicity MI6 has been receiving, it looks to be less simple than we hoped. Afterwards, as you have been taken from active duty indefinitely, you will be on leave elsewhere."  
Bond's mood steadily darkened as Q elaborated. Despite the assurance that the input needed from him would be restricted to recounting what had happened, everything was catching up to him and threatening to swallow him whole. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Fortunately, he knew just how to counter it.  
At first glance, the kitchen seemed well-stocked. A search through the cabinets, however, yielded just one bottle of Bordeaux. Not even close enough. He grimaced, gracelessly pushing the bottle back and shutting the door. He turned to see Q watching him, head tilted slightly to the side. "You are not going to drown your sorrows in alcohol, 007. That is also why I am here."  
"You're my babysitter, then?"  
"If you are keen on putting it that way. Your files show your coping mechanisms quite clearly- we merely wish to ensure you don't destroy yourself."  
"There is no other way to put it."  
"But there is. We have lost much these past few weeks. You are not joining the collateral."  
"And I get no say in it. Excellent." he growled, and pushed open another door. It turned out to be his bedroom. He knew this because the closet doors were ajar, displaying just enough for him to know his effects had been taken out of storage. Ignoring the fact that he was tracking dirt on the carpet, he closed the door in Q's slightly frowning face and collapsed on the bed.


End file.
